


Never Enough

by shotgunsammy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Pre-Hell, Season 3, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:18:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shotgunsammy/pseuds/shotgunsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-Hell Wincest, where I prove once again that I can only write angst.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Enough

**Author's Note:**

> Cross-posted from tumblr (honeymish)

They’re tangled in between the scratchy sheets of some no-name motel, mapping out bodies they know all too well and pressing whispers into each other’s mouths. The air around them hangs heavy with the smell of blood and sweat and too many things left unsaid.

Dean’s deal comes up in two months. Sam is going to get him out of it.

They have less than two months left together. Eight weeks, fifty-seven days, one-thousand-three-hundred-and-seventy hours. Then again, Sam’s sure he could live a thousand years with Dean and it still would never be enough.

“Sam. Sammy, you okay?”

Sam snaps out of his thoughts to find his brother has stopped kissing his neck and is now looking up at him with concerned eyes. He hadn’t even realized he was spacing out again. It’s been happening more and more lately.

Sam just shakes his head and gives Dean a tight smile that doesn’t even come close to reaching his eyes. He knows Dean will see right through it, always does, so instead he just goes back to kissing his brother. Dean kisses back, slow and wet and so wrong it’s right. One of his hands is holding onto Sam’s hip, sticky with come and sweat, while his other hand is petting through his brother’s hair, almost caressing.

They lay there for a while, making out and memorizing their bodies and the way they fit oh-so perfectly together, as if they could ever forget. It’s desperate and passionate, and for a moment Sam feels eighteen again, with big dreams and a one-way ticket to Palo Alto, leaving behind a brother and a car, the only homes he’s ever known.

Except this time, it’s Dean leaving, and Sam can’t deal with that. He just can’t. Dean is his anchor, the only constant in their crazy lives, the only one who’s always been there for him. A brother, a protector, a lover, a best friend.

A soulmate.

Sam is going to get him out of this damned deal if it’s the last thing he does.

Dean is staring at him with those wide green eyes and that’s when Sam realizes he just said that last part out-loud. Tears are filling Dean’s eyes and Sam can’t even remember the last time he saw his brother cry as his own vision blurs. He reaches a hand over to touch Dean’s cheek, brushing his thumb over his brother’s cheekbone.

“Gonna get you outta this, Dean. I promise.” His throat feels tight as he leans over and brushes his lips across Dean’s forehead, eyelids, nose. “Gonna save you. Don’t care if it’s the last thing I do, Dean. I’m not letting you go to Hell. Not alone at least.” he whispers.

Dean lets out a choked sob at that, and Sam feels the warm tears spill down his brother’s cheeks. “No.” says Dean. It comes out more like a croak, and then he’s pressing a hand against Sam’s chest and pushing him back. “Stop it, Sammy. Damnit, stop it.” he whispers, his voice cracking on the last word.

Sam just stares at his brother, confused as Dean sits up against the headboard, shaking his head. He’s still crying, and Sam’s barely holding back his own tears now. “Stop what, Dean?” he asks.

“Stop saying you’re gonna save me! Stop acting like there’s a way around this when we both know damn well there isn’t! Stop acting like, like…” he deflates.

“Like what, Dean?”

“Like there’s hope! Stop acting like there’s still hope for me, Sam!”

“I can’t! Alright I can’t, because one of us has to act like that! Because you’re too busy acting like you’re already fucking dead!”

They’re both yelling and crying now, their throats raw and burning. Dean recoils like Sam just slapped him across the face, and the words are hanging heavy in the silence between them.

“Dean, when I died… you sold your soul when I died. How do you think I’m gonna feel once your deal’s up?” Sam whispers as he reaches over to wrap his fingers around his brother’s wrists. “Once you’re gone to Hell and I could have, fuck, I could have done something about it. Dean, how am I supposed to live with myself after…”

He’s cut off by his own tears, choking sobs as he tries to get the words out, to make Dean understand. Strong arms wrap around his body and soon he’s shaking in his big brother’s arms, staining his shoulder with tears. Dean’s own voice comes out choked as he tries to comfort him, whispering into his little brother’s mop of hair.

“Fuck, Sam, didn’t mean to make you cry. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby boy. I wish I could stay, wish I could stay with you forever. Love you so much, Sammy. Please don’t cry. Shh, please.” After a while, Sam calms down a little, body no longer shaking and sobs subsiding.

“I promise I’m gonna fight, Sam. You won’t get rid of me that easily.” That actually pulls a quiet laugh out of Sam, and when he pulls his head back up to look at his brother, he finds Dean looking at him with a tired grin, eyes shining with tears.

“Promise?” Sam asks, because he just needs to be sure. Needs to save some hope that Dean will come back to him.

“Promise.” Dean answers. Then he pulls Sam against his chest and maneuvers them back under the covers, pressing himself against his brother’s back. Sam is physically and emotionally exhausted after the crying and yelling and sex. He’s well on his way to sleep with Dean’s fingers slipping through his hair, and his lips pressing soft kisses against his shoulders and neck, when Dean decides to speak up.

“I’m scared, you know?” he whispers. “‘S not just you, Sammy. I’m fucking terrified. Of Hell, of being away from you, of how you’re gonna deal once I’m gone. Fuck, Sam, I’m so scared.” Sam goes to turn around in his brother’s arms, but Dean just holds him there, keeping him turned so he can’t see his brother’s face.

Stupid Dean and his “no chick-flick moments” bullshit.

Instead, Sam just reaches his hand over to Dean’s own that’s resting above his head and squeezes his fingers, encouraging him to go on. Dean presses a feather-light kiss behind Sam’s neck before continuing.

“Been taking care of you for twenty-three years, little brother. Damn… Did you know that on your first day at school, you didn’t cry? But I did.” They both laugh a little at that. “I was so scared of you not being with me or Dad, and I started crying as soon as you let go of my hand.”

A beat.

“You’re everything, Sam.”

It takes Sam by surprise, and his breath catches in his throat, the moisture back in his eyes. Dean doesn’t say anything after that, and neither does he.

Sam doesn’t sleep that night. He stays up for hours, listening to the steady thrum of Dean’s heartbeat and reminding himself that Dean is alive and safe and here. But it’s not enough.

Never enough when he knows that in one-thousand-three-hundred-and-sixty-five hours, he won’t be.


End file.
